


coincidental

by archerhatesyou



Category: Darker Than Black
Genre: Desk Sex, F/M, I seriously can't with tags, Present Tense, Trolling, britishisms, mix-em-ups and goofery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6388021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archerhatesyou/pseuds/archerhatesyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misaki and November have something in common.</p>
            </blockquote>





	coincidental

There isn't really a reason they’ve been left alone. It's been something of a slow news day, and the others have already gone home. But given her position, she had been fooled into all the end-of-day chores. And being the annoyance he is, he had stuck around as well.

She has been alone with November 11 several times already. It never makes her uneasy—she knows she can handle herself well enough, and he always seems so _sincere_ , in his own way—but she's constantly on her guard. Which is probably best. No matter his allegiances, she believes that _no one_ is ever totally safe around any Contractor—not even a cop at police headquarters. As such, they’d all been told to keep an eye on him and his team. But as it is, she feels the task is rather comparable to babysitting a teenager.

At first his presence doesn't cause (m)any problems; he keeps himself quite occupied with the whiteboard as she finishes up reviewing the day’s reports. She'd heard the occasional creak and snap of markers being uncapped and capped again; each time she glances up there's some new tic-tac-toe game or sketch, the most memorable of which being a sloppy stick figure with angry eyebrows and a pronounced frown. Its ponytail and the blue ovals around its dot eyes are enough caricature to indicate its identity, but he had also written “Misaki” next to a fat red dry-erase arrow. For insurance.

Now he hovers near her, investigating everything he can touch, purposefully oblivious to the sharpness of her glare. “You know, you don't _have_ to be here, if you're so bored.” He just glances over his shoulder and winks, and her gut reaction is a grimace. He pays no mind and continues his plunder of the office supplies, seeming to do it half out of curiosity, half because it might irk her. Which, it does.

 _Finally_ , she thinks as he takes the seat across from her at the conference table. But that's hardly any better. Leaning forward on his elbows, he peeks at her paperwork with one eye, and like any straightlaced schoolgirl she shields her work with a hand and a scowl. He just sits back, disinterested, peering at his fingers as he rubs them together.

“You weren't using your hands to erase that stuff, were you?”

He points at his chest, frowning impishly. “In _this_ color suit? I'm hurt, Misaki. I do have some common sense.” He stands again, back to her, hands comfortably in his pockets. She follows his gaze to a half-empty bottle of water on a windowsill, and at the same time she hears the rustle of plastic as he pats his waistcoat pocket.

“What’s got you so on edge?”

He blinks. “Am I on edge?”

“You're clearly plotting trouble.”

A grin flicks across his lips before his brows knit in mock offense. Having dropped his jacket across the back of a chair, he commences rolling up his sleeves and Misaki tries to ignore how much she doesn't trust this whole situation, and yet how interested she is in . . . whatever is happening in his head.

“Misaki.”

She files away the last of the sheets. “Hm.”

And then he's kissing her.

When he isn't, she watches his face. “I don’t follow.”

Now he stands tall, looking rather self-satisfied, and removes her glasses with the delicacy of a hush to set them on the ledge under the whiteboard. “Small steps, then. I shall lead,” he says, coaxing her to stand.

“You seem to have some sort of plan." She's reluctant to admit how her skin tingles as his lips trail down her neck. But she's making zero attempt to resist so that's more or less admittance.

“Feel free to do away with the kirby grips, if you like.”

“Come again?”

“Apologies—barrettes, that is.”

“I’d call them bobby pins.”

“Oh?”

He's currently busy removing his waistcoat—and what a pity, she _does_ love a man in a vest—so she looses the knot in his tie, pleased at the sight of a shiver as she slides it slowly from his shirt collar. She allows him free reign as he stands behind her and slips the jacket from her shoulders, his fingers deft as the buttons of her shirt are silently undone, his mouth wet on the back of her neck; no more clothes come off, but he does now have freer access to the more interesting bits.

“This is all very flattering. Howev—” The words catch in her throat when the skin of his heated palms presses flat against the hollows of her hips. “Exactly how far will you be going?”

“As far as possible, without being struck.” Then, after some thought: “Perhaps further.” He spins her slowly to face him and kisses her again, hands nestled in the small of her back under her clothes, and she realizes her fingers are threaded through his hair. There's a near inaudible smacking sound as he breaks the kiss, and her lips twitch with a repressed grin.

“See now,” he says gently. “I do believe you enjoyed that.”

“It’s difficult to resist when you’re good at it.”

“Ah?” He eyes her as she tugs her scrunchie away, fanning her fine, loose hair across her shoulders. “What a kind compliment.”

“I meant me.” He pauses, conspicuously silent. She keeps from grinning just long enough to add, “That was a joke.”

He pays no mind and continues on his way down the line of her body. “Are you curious to know what it’s like?” he says, just as the zipper in her slacks is parted. “To sleep with a Contractor.”

Misaki tugs out the remaining hem of her shirt. “I . . . have wondered.”

“Do help with my belt, if you wouldn’t mind.”

She does so, before he takes her waist between his hands and helps her up on the table. He pushes the shirt off her shoulders and guides her to lie back by leaning close, her elbows supporting her among stacks of folders and tiny boxes of paper clips. Their clothing as a whole is by now rather sparse. She appreciates his modesty in leaving his open shirt hanging over his back, a lavender curtain sheltering her, and that she is allowed to keep her bra. “Of course it's blue,” he murmurs, sliding his hands along the inside of the elastic, under the wire, over the skin of her arching back and her breasts. “Have you wondered about one Contractor in particular?”

She swallows back a groan as he arranges her hair away from her face.

He takes this as a yes. “Was that Contractor me?”

She is silent long enough that even he might be pained by the suspense.

“No.”

November stands and observes from his upright vantage; she peers at him with a mild squint, fearing retaliation for another ill-timed slight.

But he just clicks his tongue. “This simply won't do.” She doesn't have time to ask what; her hands fly out to grip the edge of the table as he pushes it hard up against the wall, chairs clattering away and loose pages fluttering in its wake. He then gingerly lifts her knees and guides her legs around his waist, sending spikes of hot and cold across her skin. She shuts her eyes and tries to ignore the hard, fiery knot in her stomach.

“Alright down there?” She opens one eye to see him grinning. “I'd much prefer if you would relax.”

“Whatever happened to that devil-may-care-about-consent attitude?”

“Please, Misaki,” he says flatly. “I'm a proper English gentleman.”

She surprises even herself with a fit of laughter, the table under her rattling on its casters. The innocent look of confusion on such an unabashedly naked man only fuels her tittering. “That _wasn't_ a joke, you know.”

“I know,” she says, forcing her giggles into submission, “that's why it's so funny.” She squeezes his hips between her knees as she recovers her breath.

He quirks a brow. “I'm pleased to see your tension has . . . dissolved.”

“Quite,” she says, grabbing handfuls of golden hair at the base of his neck. “You'll be picking all this up, by the way.”

“Me?” He teases her earlobe with his tongue. “What do I know about your filing system?”

“You should have thought about that before you made a mess of my paperwork.”

“This isn't really the time to quibble over chores.”

She fishes under her back to disengage a pen embedded in her skin and clicks it several times. “I haven't thrown you off your game, have I?”

“Goodness, no. Laughing releases endorphins—” His nose wrinkles as she bops it with the pen. “Impatient, are we?”

“Please shut up.” She drops it to the floor, teeth just catching her bottom lip as she settles herself, hot and slick, against his thigh.

“What?” he says, willfully ignorant of her advances. He smirks as she sighs desperately. “I thought we were . . . bonding.”

“Ha, ha, _November 11_.”

“I'm rather impressed you get that.”

“You're a real pill, you know it?”

“I do enjoy running my mouth.”

“I _do_ wish you didn't.”

He shrugs and begins to lift one of her knees, presumably to rest over his shoulder. “Ah ah ah,” she warns.

“Pardon?”

“Condom, please. This isn't a harlequin, you know.”

“Of course.” He's quite enjoying the position of her body against his, so he takes the lazy route and stretches for the chair where his jacket hangs, just managing to reach and roll it closer. It takes maybe four seconds to become clear that he is knowingly rifling through his pockets in vain.

“You don't have one,” she says.

“Well. . . .”

“You propositioned me without a condom on your person.”

“Nor have you got one, it seems.”

“ _I_ don't make a habit of seducing women at their places of employment.”

“Now she says it's _habit_.”

“Hey. I don't know where you've been.”

“I'm a desperate man so I'll let that slide. Without a doubt there exists such a thing in this building.”

“Oh?”

“Contraband.” He snaps his fingers as if this might clarify his meaning. “Confiscated materials.”

“You want to raid police evidence for a _rubber_.”

“You don't seem to fully grasp the predicament I've found myself in.”

“I've grasped plenty, and there'll be no more grasping without prophylactics.” He looks so adorably put out that she can't resist a sigh. “Try that desk there,” she says, pointing. Kouno seems the type. She swings her feet flat atop the conference table, then crosses her legs at the knees, pillows her hands behind her head. “I'll wait.”

“I do encourage you to start without me,” he says, carefully lifting felt pens and kaki-pea packets from a wide drawer at the top.

 _Probably_ not a bad idea from a logistical perspective. But things had proceeded with such intensity that even though it was an abrupt start, it's probably not necessary. She'll investigate when he's not looking. “Wouldn't want to distract from your search.” 

“Then you may as well put your knickers back on, my dear, you're a veritable menace.”

He's replacing things just the way he finds them so as not to disturb their provenience. _A true criminal._ “That determined crease in your brow is just _delightful_ , November.”

“I thank you kindly.”

“Can't guarantee you'll find anything in there anyway.”

His blurred form dives into a deeper drawer. “Yes, well, at the very least I've had a lovely show.” She takes the opportunity to slip her hand down between her legs to assess whether or not _oh shjdhfskrw that's wet enough._ When November surfaces again, a little foil square is dangling from his teeth.

“That _skank_.”

“Now now, Misaki. Let's not be hypocritical.”

“Don't pretend this was _my_ idea.”

He flicks the wrapper. “Will you, or shall I?”

“Have at it.” She closes her eyes and hums a low little tune in the interval. Her eyes open when she hears him step closer.

“A bit snug, but—”

“Oh shut the hell up.”

His lips press together, concealing a smile. “Yes ma'am.” He pauses to once again brush the bangs from her face. “Okay?” he asks.

Heat colors her skin, reaching up from her shoulders to her ears and across her cheeks. _My whooole business was all over this man's leg and his asking permission is what embarrasses me? Weak, Misaki._ She nods, accompanied by a small, involuntary sound like a whimper.

“ _Heavens._ ” He collapses against her breasts. “This will . . . well.”

“That bad?”

“You've no idea.” He wastes no time getting busy, aligning himself at her hips; they exhale in unison as he slides in. Her head tilts back as she adjusts to the sensation of being filled; even before they begin to move it feels so nice that she just closes her eyes and lets herself _feel_.

“Now,” he says, because he must promptly ruin all nice things. His breath is hot against her neck. “I must know who this man is.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be best.”

“Ah.” He sighs through his nose and nips at her neck as he begins slowly rocking their hips. “So I know him.”

She stifles a moan. “That’s not quite what I said.” All that wrinkled paperwork is irritating against the bare skin of her back. She hopes none of it will be too badly damaged, she’d hate to have to explain that. Still, she doesn't have the focus to do anything about the offending materials. November really _is_ rather good at this.

“All the same. Are you thinking of him now?”

She considers the weighty body pressed against her own, the smooth pace, the unreasonably pretty shoulders, before answering, “Oh. Not exactly.”

A low groan rolls from his throat, vibrating against her skin. “You know you simply must tell me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Don’t make me freeze it out of you.”

“You might appreciate a smoke after sex.”

“Cheeky.” He squeezes the back of her thighs as he pushes deeper, eliciting a startled, breathy moan. “Be careful what you wish for," he purrs, deliberate and deep. "I trust you’ve heard the statistics on secondhand smoke.”

“Several times,” she manages to gasp.

“I won’t ask again.”

She leaves it as a breath against his shoulder, too far gone out her mind for anything sultrier: “BK-201.”

He buries his face in her hair and hums. “What a coincidence.”


End file.
